As I drive us to Berisha’s club, it’s quiet for a couple of minutes before Joseph says, “You’ll have two more tests before you become a made man.”
“What tests?” Fucking tell me so I can prepare myself for them.
“You’ll have to kill. You got that in you?”
Fuck. I knew it was a possibility but hoped it wouldn’t come to that. “Depends on who,” I mutter.
“Don’t worry. Whoever it is will deserve it,” Joseph chuckles as I park the car at the side of the club.
After climbing out of the vehicle, I ask, “And the third test?”
Joseph shakes his head. “Zef decides that one right before you get to meet the boss.”
Pretending to look curious, I ask, “Who’s Zef? And the boss?”
Joseph pats me on the back while we walk into the club. “I’ll tell you after you pass the second test.”
The moment Joseph lays eyes on John Berisha, he starts to laugh. Pulling the cash out, he slams it against Berisha’s chest. “Danny fucking over-delivered. Now you back off.”
Berisha checks the amount I got, then gives me a lazy grin. “Not bad. From now on, you collect outstanding debts.”
My eyes dart to Joseph, who gives me a proud grin, then he jokes, “You’re still going to drive me around. Don’t think the promotion gets you out of that.”
Letting out a chuckle, I mutter, “Of course, but this promotion better come with a raise.”
Berisha counts a thousand off then holds it out to me. I don’t hesitate taking the cash and shove it into my pocket.
Joseph gestures to the bar. “What do you want?”
“A beer.”
Letting out a snort, I’m given an incredulous look. “We’re celebrating, Danny.”
“Fine, whiskey then.”
We all take a seat at the bar, and the conversation starts to revolve around the club before it takes a dark turn to the massage parlors and brothels, making my guilt rear up. The drinks keep coming, and soon the sharp edge of guilt dulls.
At some point, I stop taking mental notes of what’s being said and drink to silence the heaviness swirling in my gut.
Chapter 13
JJ
It’s the middle of the night when I’m woken by a thumping at the door. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I throw the covers back and stumble through the dark apartment. I fumble with the lock, and when I open the door, O’Brien staggers into me.
Fear wakes me up like a lightning bolt, thinking he got hurt, but before I can try to switch on the light or say something, an incredible waft of alcohol almost knocks my breath away.
He’s drunk?
“Feel… fucking guilty,” he mumbles almost incoherently.
“You drank?” I ask the stupid question, wrapping my arms around him and locking my legs in place so he doesn’t drag us both down when his body leans heavily into mine. “Ugh, forget it.”
It takes a hell of a lot of strength to pull O’Brien toward the couch. “Let’s get you settled, then I’ll grab you some water.”
“Not thirsty,” he mumbles. Somehow he manages to stand up a little straighter, squinting at me. The expression on his face turns predatory, making my stomach tighten, then he moves faster than any drunk person should be able to. The force of his body hitting mine knocks me off balance, dropping me to the floor with him on top of me. His hands grip the sides of my head, his mouth crashes against mine in a bruising kiss, and common sense is nowhere to be found.
Oh shit.
With a forceful thrust, his tongue enters my mouth. The taste of alcohol, cigarettes, and O’Brien is one hell of an adrenaline shot instead of disgusting.
A growl ripples from his chest, the sound filled with intense satisfaction as if he’s been dying to kiss me.
He’s drunk.
I’m torn between losing myself in the kiss and doing the right thing and pushing him away when his knee shoves my legs open, and his hand burns over my ribs. He grabs a fistful of my shirt, and in one hard yank, the fabric’s up and exposing my breasts.
Oh my God.
His palm covers my breast, his touch rough and demanding, setting fire to my body.
OhGodOhGodOhGod.
O’Brien breaks the kiss, his lips scorching their way down my throat. “Fuck, moan for me.”
As always, my body listens, and with his palm covering my breast, his fingers digging into my skin, I moan for him. The pleasure hitting me is overwhelming and honestly bewildering as hell. I’ve wanted this for so long, the moment’s too intense for me to think straight.
“That’s it, baby,” he groans, his voice hoarse and deep, dragging me further into the blazing fire he’s creating in me. “I want all your moans.” His teeth tug at my skin, his fingers pull and roll my nipple. “I want your screams.” His leg pushes my legs wider apart as his thigh rubs hard against my damp shorts.
God, he has me wet and ready while drunk. What will he be like sober?
Whether it’s the alcohol or actual need, O’Brien loses control, his hands rubbing hard over every inch of my skin he can touch. His kisses become feverish and impatient, then he freaking moves, pressing his hard length between my legs. “Want to fuck you so hard you’ll never get me out.”
A whimper’s torn from me when I feel how big he is through the clothes and wanting every inch of him to fill me in dominating thrusts.
God, do I want him.
More than my next breath.
O’Brien shoves his hand down between us and cups me through my shorts. Another satisfied growl rumbles from his chest. “Christ. So fucking wet.”
The slurring in his voice finally breaks through the haze, enough for my mind to catch up to what’s really happening, and using all my strength, I push against his chest. “You’re drunk.”
Instead of stopping, he starts to rub my clit. A sound between a whimper and frustration escapes me because all I want to do is let him have his way with me, but knowing this is not right, I push harder. “No, Daniel. Stop.”
His body instantly stills on top of mine, then he rolls off of me with a groan, slumping to his back.
Breathless and stunned, I lie beside him, my mind catching up to what just went down, then the emotions hit hard. I lift a trembling hand and quickly pull my shirt down, covering my chest and stomach. My skin still tingles from his touch, my clit feeling swollen.
God, JJ, you should’ve stopped him the second he kissed you.
But…
Closing my eyes, I can’t stop myself from relishing in how incredibly good it felt to be touched and kissed by him.
He’s drunk. It doesn’t mean anything.
But…
Even drunk, he’d already had to feel something for me to want to sleep with me. Right?
You’re his partner. Of course, he cares, but he’s drunk, and you can’t read more into it. Don’t start hoping for something that can’t be.
Even breaths sound up next to me, and I turn my head to look at O’Brien, who’s now fast asleep while I’m a sexually frustrated and confused mess beside him.
Turning onto my side, I press my face into his shoulder and take a deep breath of his scent that’s a lot like the day he tackled me in the warehouse, a combination of sweat, man, and sandalwood. Intoxicating.